


Prissy Girl

by candlehoe23



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Girl Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7098334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlehoe23/pseuds/candlehoe23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's say there was a little girl, and from the time she could understand, she was taught to fear... let's say she was taught to fear daylight. She was taught that it was her enemy, that it would hurt her. And then one sunny day, you ask her to go outside and play and she won't. You can't be angry at her can you?</p><p>She'll only break your heart, it's a fact. And even though I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly, you'll still pursue her. Ain't love grand?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>I knew that little girl and I saw the light in her eyes, and no matter what you say or do, that's still what I see.</i></p><p> </p><p>We are who we are. People don't change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prissy Girl

The day ended much as it began, with Clarke Griffin sitting on the curb outside her home, staring into space like an idiot, completely alone. 

Friday morning she sat waiting for Raven Reyes to pick her up, thinking about how she'd survive the humiliation of missing senior prom. Part of her knew no one would notice if she went to the prom or not, because she was a cypher flying under the social radar -- or rather, part of her knew that her life was a personal humiliation to everyone who'd made an investment in her, and missing the prom would be no less or greater a humiliation than the rest of her failures -- but Clarke struggled with that narcissistic-slash-self-pity complex that so many lost teenagers enjoy, and it was this warped social creature that sat trying to figure out how to get into the prom. With a date, of course. 

She had until the end of the school day to find a date for that night. Yes, that same night. Looked like nachos and X-Box awaited her for the twentieth evening in a row. 

Raven picked Clarke up five minutes after first period had started, and they drove to school without a word. Raven's mom knew Clarke's mom, and the two women agreed that Raven and Clarke could carpool together, with Clarke paying for Raven's gas. All the gas, a full tank anytime Raven needed it, not just what was used to get Clarke to school, out of Clarke's pocket. Jesus. Every morning, Raven would stop a block from school, kick Clarke out, then drive into the parking lot alone. On mornings when Raven was late, Clarke was extraordinarily late. For this, and for her cool-ass name, Clarke truly hated Raven. 

"Clarke, Jesus Christ." 

These words, spoken by Clarke's homeroom teacher, were the first human sounds she'd heard all morning. In Clarke's home, no one ate breakfast together, no one passed in the wide halls of the large house, no one listened to music or talk radio. Nothing, no words. Now that she'd been griped out by her teacher, she could safely bet that no one would speak to her again throughout the day. 

After second period, Clarke stood in front of her open locker, pretending to look for something. If she closed the locker too quickly, she'd be the first to third period, and she'd sit alone with no one to talk to. Fuck that. 

"Cut it out, asshole." 

A girl down the hall was arguing with someone. No, not just a girl. The girl, Lexa Woods, she of the perfect hair, perfectly ironed cheerleading outfit, perfect knots on her sneakers. Hell, even her Anglo-Whatever name was perfect. 

Believe it or not, Clarke had very little use for her. Those in the lower social echelons knew better than to box above their weight, and Clarke only liked to fantasize about girls who had been nice to her at some point -- those with a friendly wave, a kind question, some sort of human contact. Never had Lexa connected with Clarke, and never would she. In a way, she was as much a cypher to Clarke as she was to everyone else. Still, there's no way to keep from knowing the celebrities in your town. 

"Lexa, I swear to god, you better not push me again," said Bellamy What's-his-name, starting first-string whatever and Lexa's obligatory homecoming king boyfriend. A fellow jock laughed at Bellamy's unfunny comments. Lexa had a cheerleading cohort standing nearby, waiting with books in hand. 

"Then don't shove your books up my skirt," Lexa shouted shrilly. 

Bellamy said, "Chill out, bitch. I'm just peeking at your bloomers. Nothing I haven't seen before." He grabbed the edge of her ridiculously short skirt. 

Lexa pushed Bellamy hard in the chest. "I said cut it out! You ass face!"

"Goddamn, what is your problem!" Bellamy cried. "Is it that time of the month already?" 

"Fuck you! Take your sister to the prom." Lexa turned and walked in Clarke's direction. Bellamy followed her. 

"Oh no way, bitch. Don't even kid. I'll drop you like a punt kick." 

Lexa responded, "You aren't dropping nothing, Bellamy. Fuck the prom, fuck you." 

Lexa's fellow cheerleader, Anya, shrieked in protest. "Lexa, you CAN'T not go to the prom! You'll ruin everything. We got the hotel rooms." 

"Forget this," Bellamy said. "I'm outta here. Take that nerd, for all I care." He waved a dismissive hand at Clarke as he walked away. 

Lexa looked at Clarke, and suddenly the world was a very strange and uncomfortable place to be. Lexa barely seemed to see her at all, and Clarke could feel the dismissal that didn't even approach contempt, washing over her like a crashing wave, or an angry drink in the face. Did she hate Lexa for it? How much hate did she have left inside of her? Wasn't there someone in the entire suburban school district who would reach out to her? In those stupid Eighties teen movies, there was always that slightly unpopular girl who took the nerd under her wing and taught them about life and music and dancing, and being a nerd turned out to not be such a bad thing. In real life, the nerd was a reclusive wallflower who would never make the first move, and the resentment building inside that nerd pushed against the soul like a fissure in a river dam. 

When the dam burst, the results were unexpected to say the least. 

"Hey Lexa," Clarke said on a whim. "You wanna go to the prom?" 

Lexa did a double-take before she finally saw who was speaking to her. There stood Clarke, stewing in her own emotional juices, trying for once to look like a normal human being, trying to make a connection to mankind. And for what? Perhaps she was trying to invoke an emotion within herself, maybe fear or embarrassment. But nothing came. 

Anya looked at Clarke with melodramatic disgust. Her clothes were basic t-shirt and jeans, ratty shoes, nothing eye-catching. But Lexa did not look disgusted. Clarke, not one who knew how to read body language, worked her mind to figure out why Lexa hadn't spit on her yet. 

"Why me?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke shrugged. "I don't have a date, and now you don't either. It's fate." 

"Oh really," Lexa replied. Her response was sarcastic, but her eyes were not. "Well if it's fate, then I guess I have to be your date." 

"Lexa!" Anya shrieked. Shrieking was the only sound Anya made. "What the heck are you doing?" 

"Anya, chill out, okay? God." Lexa looked back at Clarke, about to speak, but no words came. She looked her up and down. What did she see? She finally asked, "What's your name?" 

Oh fucking A, she didn't even know her name. Well NOW she felt embarrassed. "Clarke," she said. "Griffin." 

"Which is it?" Lexa asked. 

"Clarke Griffin," she said. "Griffin's my last name." 

"Oh FUCK," Anya said with amused disbelief. "Lexa, let's go." 

The cheerleaders disappeared down the hall. Lexa did not look back. Clarke went to class, laughing and shaking her head, or at least thinking about how she'd laugh and shake her head if she ever wanted to make any movement that actually drew attention. During third hour, she stared at the blackboard and thought about what a bullet she had dodged. What if she'd really said yes? Nothing could be more miserable. Once the incident was deleted from her memory, Clarke spent the remainder of the day gratefully following her mindless routine. 

After school, Clarke walked down the block toward Raven's car. Suddenly, a BMW slammed to a halt beside her. Lexa sat in the driver's seat. 

"I accept," she said. 

Clarke was at a loss for words. "Accept what?"

"You're my date tonight. Do you have a suit?" 

Clarke's fingers dug into the strap of her backpack. She felt a bit dizzy. "Uh, no. I don't have anything." 

"What, are you walking home or something?" 

Clarke saw Raven looking through the back window of her car. What the hell would she be thinking? "Sort of," Clarke answered. 

"Do you have money?" 

"Yeah," Clarke said. Money was not a problem for her family, but permission to drive certainly was. What a bunch of tight-asses. No time to dwell on that now -- lofty events were in the air. 

"Get in." 

Thoughts flashed through poor little Clarke's mind with maelstrom speed, but there was no time at all for thinking. There sat Lexa, head cheerleader, arm casually draped over the seat of her Beemer, waiting for Clarke to get in so she could take her to the Jesus H. Christ senior friggin' prom. What was left to decide? 

She opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. As Lexa drove past Raven, Clarke waved hello. The look on Raven's face was one of unqualified astonishment. Clarke hoped she herself didn't have the same look. 

"You're cute," Lexa said as she took a neighborhood turn too fast. Soon she was on the urban thoroughfare, gaining speed, unimpressed by the yellow traffic lights. "We're going to wash your hair first, okay?" 

Lexa invited no debate as she pulled into an expensive looking salon. She went to the counter and politely begged the cashier girl to put Clarke in the chair right away, as she was taking her to the prom in less than four hours. The stylists and patrons started gossiping and congratulating Clarke, offering several opinions about what could be done with her unimpressive dreadlocks. But Lexa quickly took control -- as was her wont, Clarke noted -- dictating the length of the haircut (and highlights, for fuck's sake -- that made her nervous), the shade settings, even how to thin it out. She had Clarke shampooed and groomed -- everything but the collar -- and then they were off. 

Next they stopped at the suit rental store. Lexa talked to the sales girl as though Clarke weren't even there, or as though she were a mannequin being prepared for the storefront. Most of the tuxedos her size were already gone, and the only ones that remained were the high-dollar ones with pearl buttons and other upper-class accents. Lexa instructed her to pay without thinking about the cost, and Clarke was comfortable with that. Her wish had been fulfilled, and she was grateful. Besides, who needed another cartridge for her game system? She might get laid tonight, after all. 

After the sales girl measured Clarke -- as Lexa looked on dispassionately, odd sensation that -- Lexa thanked the girl and beckoned Clarke to follow her to the car. 

"I have to get ready," she informed Clarke. "Hair, makeup, push-up bra, all the fun stuff. You'll drop me off, then take my car back to pick up the suit. The alterations should be done by then. Get extra cash for dinner, and pick up some condoms. I'm not going to my senior prom without getting fucked. And don't touch your hair, I mean it. I want you to pick up a green corsage at the supermarket. Go to as many as you have to until you find one. Be at my house at 5:00. I want to eat and be at the dance by 6:30. Now, repeat that back to me." 

Clarke's palms went cold. "You… you'll get dropped off, I'll get the suit and… and condoms, and a green corsage, then come back to get you by five." 

"And don't touch your fucking hair, asshole." 

"Yes, thank you, I got it," Clarke snapped, or whatever counted for a snap in her passive-aggressive world. She didn't want to piss off the girl she was going to make love to in a few hours. 

Lexa pulled into her driveway (her house was smaller than Clarke's -- why the hell didn't she have a car?). Clarke got in the driver's seat and backed the Beemer into the street. Thank goodness for automatic transmission. 

She ran her errands in a befuddled haze. What had just happened? The whole scenario seemed like a fairy tale, where the peasant wins the hand of the princess. But something wasn't right. She didn't know enough about how people dealt with each other to know what was wrong with Lexa's behavior, but everything she'd learned from television told her that things were progressing nicely. She’d run on instinct, she decided, until a more definite warning light came on. Why not give the head cheerleader the benefit of the doubt? Maybe she genuinely liked Clarke. Wouldn't that be a pleasant surprise. 

Clarke put on the suit when she got to the store; the time was 4:35. After she had it on, she looked at herself in the mirror. She’d never worn a suit, let alone without her dreads or all the other stuff. She didn't recognize the person she saw, and for that she was profoundly grateful. She simply looked fantastic, just the way she always fantasized. Maybe she really did deserve to go to the prom. Clarke left her clothes and books in a locker in the back; she'd pick them up when she returned the suit. 

Wearing the suit, she went into the Mobil station at the corner of Lexa's neighborhood. She picked up the rubbers and tossed them on the counter; she tried to act non-chalant, but she threw them too hard, and one of the two packs flew off the counter. The cashier picked it up and looked at her, annoyed. This is the point where this guy would announce to the other customers what I'm buying, Clarke thought with horror. But the guy took her money without a word, and Clarke sprinted to her car, with her purchase hidden in her pocket. She put the rubbers in the glove box. As she drove to Lexa's house, she kept looking at the glove box, as though terrorists had wired a bomb in there, set to explode at any minute. There was no rationale behind such thoughts; she was just damn nervous. 

When she pulled up to the house, she saw a red Mustang in the driveway, so she parked on the street. Clarke took the corsage with her to the front door and rang the bell. 

Bellamy, the football player, opened the door. He wore a tuxedo. 

"Oh HELL no." With no warning, Bellamy sucker-punched Clarke in the gut. Clarke doubled-over on the porch, crouched on her haunches, trying not to lie down in the umpteen-dollar suit. 

Clarke saw past Bellamy into the living room. There sat Lexa on the sofa, looking bored. A woman who must have been her mother stood shaking her head, a hand over her mouth. Next to Bellamy stood another man, Lexa's father. 

"Now Bellamy, don't be a dickhead," the father said. "Lexa's made her choice, and that's final. Now go on to the prom, and she'll see you there." 

Bellamy cracked his knuckles as he stepped past Clarke. Neither he nor the old man seemed to notice Clarke on the ground, trying to catch her breath. Suddenly Clarke realized what part of the puzzle she had missed, or simply looked past -- Lexa had dropped her prom date the day of the event, but the guy still existed. What was it about Clarke that kept her from seeing how people really were? 

"Oh dear," the mother said, rushing to Clarke to help her stand. "I'm Mrs. Woods, Lexa's mother." 

"Clar… Clarke Griffin." Her diaphragm was sore. 

Lexa stood and approached her. She looked Clarke up and down, then straightened her tie, ran her fingers through Clarke’s hair. "You look good," she said with a smile, then she kissed her on the cheek. Clarke realized with a shudder that this was the first time she'd ever seen her smile, for any reason. 

She was, in a nutshell, the most beautiful girl Clarke had ever seen in person. Any girl could look beautiful with the right beauty products, Clarke had always believed, but her theory seemed a bit hollow as she looked at Lexa. Could anyone but the head cheerleader fill out this particular dress so dramatically? She glowed like a perpetual firework in her white dress, and she held a tiny hand purse to match. Her regal hair rose in waves like an elaborate seashell. Was she really going to fuck HER? 

Instantly she realized she hadn't told her parents she was going to the prom. They'd been hounding her about it for weeks. Oh well, screw them. 

The four of them walked out to the car. Lexa's father shook Clarke's hand as they walked, barely looking at her at all. He stared at Lexa with a genuine possessiveness, innocent enough for a father watching his most prized possession being taken from him. Only an idiot didn't know what the prom was for. 

Lexa's mother cocked her head as Clarke held the passenger door open for Lexa. "Clarke dear," she asked, "is this… Lexa's car?" 

"Mine's in the shop," Clarke answered reactively. Why lie? But she sure had. 

Clarke pulled away from the curb. Lexa said, "Faster," then continued to look out the window. Clarke stepped as hard on the gas as she comfortably could. "You lied to my mother, you fuckwad," Lexa said without emotion. 

"Sorry," Clarke said. "I felt a bit weird back there, especially in the gut area." 

"Well, get over it. I want to have fun tonight. Please put your insecurities somewhere I can't see them." 

Without knowing where she was going, Clarke headed for the downtown area of the nearby metropolis. "Where do you want to eat?" she asked. 

"I'm not hungry," Lexa said. "Let's fuck."

"Okay," Clarke said. Because really, what more could she say. 

"Go to the Ritz Carlton. I have a room. Are you a virgin?" 

The steering wheel went wet in Clarke's hands. "Define virgin," she said. 

"Well, what have you done with a girl?"

"Nothing at all," she heard herself say, not consciously deciding to say it. Dumbass. 

"Mm-hmm," Lexa muttered. She stared out the window yet again. Would she ever look at Clarke for the rest of the night? 

They parked and went up the elevator to the lobby, then found another elevator to the main floors. Lexa already had the key, so they went straight to the room. The sun was still up, so she left the lights off and opened the shades. "I'll wanna be on top so I don't mess up my hair," she said. "If that's alright." 

Clarke nodded. 

Lexa pressed her palm against the window glass and looked out. She sure did like windows, Clarke thought, but there was no denying the beauty of the view from this altitude, a vast concrete landscape scarred by gashes of greenery where the parks cut into the ground. In many ways, Clarke preferred this view of humanity to any other, the view in which buildings seemed to have always existed, independent of the messy humans who hid within them. This, this night, this right here, this girl, this was why she hid. She had a bad taste in her mouth. 

But then Lexa said, "Take off your clothes." Instantly, Clarke's emotions became confused again. What choice did she have? Clarke took off the coat and carefully laid it on the dresser. Soon she stood in her white boxers. And still Lexa did not turn to see her. 

"Unzip my dress." 

The zipper pulled smoothly down her spine, and just like that, she was looking at her white bra and bare skin. She didn't make a move, but only continued to lean against the glass. Clarke felt something visceral compel her to push the straps off her strong shoulders. Lexa moved her arm from the glass, and the dress fell to the floor like a feather. 

Nothing seemed real. She knew she should pull Lexa to her, like they do in the movies, followed by a wonderful time of giving into her carnal motives. But emotions spun inside her like shades of paint melding together in a bucket, and she didn't know what color would be the result. Lexa stood like a goddess before her, a statue of muscle and toned flesh in white panties and silver heels, a perfect example of the perfection of womanhood in the modern world. And yet, she seemed sad, for Clarke knew not what other word to describe the apathy she saw in her, and that made her sad for Lexa. Whatever else she was tonight -- popular icon, manipulating harlot -- she had very recently been a confused innocent kid with wrong ideas about how the world worked, just as Clarke had been, or still was. 

Clarke turned Lexa with smooth, gentle force so that she faced her. Lexa did not protest. When Clarke kissed her, Lexa felt hard as steel against her. Clarke had a new purpose, however, to melt her down to her base emotions for only a few hours, to make her feel that young innocence she had known before they met. Lexa responded to the softness of her kiss, to the patient caress of her hands on her sides.  
Whether or not she made a legitimate emotional connection might never be known, but there was no denying Lexa responded instantly to Clarke physically. She held Clarke tightly around the waist, passionately, with a femininity utterly foreign to the lonely girl kissing her. Clarke moved her lips down her cheek to her chin, then down her neck, pressing her hot tongue against her flesh as she moved, the way Niylah had taught her that one summer in junior high. In a naïve way she thought of all the "moves" she wanted to try out tonight. 

"Ohh," Lexa moaned, encouraging her on. She reached behind and unhooked her strapless bra. Clarke did not even notice it fall to the floor. All she knew was that she now saw her first pair of breasts, staring at her in all their stark, soft, round reality. Clarke fell to her knees to put her face in Lexa’s chest; she was too tall, so she unbuckled the tiny straps of her heels and slipped them off her feet. As she knelt, she stared hard at the white lace thong covering Lexa's crotch. She was fascinated by it all -- the thinness of the fancy material, the tiny straps wrapping around her flawless hips, the smoothness of her skin and the firmness of her tummy. She’d done nothing to deserve such perfection, so she spent one last moment marveling at the fluke and put such self-depreciating thoughts aside for the remainder of the hotel visit. 

So slowly did she touch the panties, so apprehensively did she pull the material down over her hips, that Lexa began to breathe hard. She put her hands on Clarke's shoulders and gripped tightly. Clarke did not mean to tease her; it's just that a part of her didn't actually believe she had permission to perform such a sacred act. As the silk descended to uncover Lexa's soft, curved mound of pelvic flesh, completely bald, Clarke regained that center of animal lust, and she was finally in the right frame of mind for some good hard sex. 

Lexa knelt as well, and she kissed Clarke on the lips again. Her tongue slipped inside Clarke’s lips, and she lashed at her dry mouth with expert skill. Clarke felt Lexa probing her, moving over her slick teeth, inspecting the roof and gums, wetting Clarke with her moist, hot breath and warm saliva. Clarke lifted her hands to Lexa's breasts and fondled her reverently, brushing her fingers over her stony nipples. She shivered, then moaned hard into Clarke’s mouth. Her hands dropped from Clarke’s shoulders to her waist. 

Lexa hooked her thumbs inside Clarke's underpants and tugged them down off her hips, pulling them out and down so her hard cock could spring up. As she tentatively placed her hand around Clarke’s cock, she continued to kiss her with her eyes closed (Clarke opened her eyes to see). An electric shock spread through Clarke, surprising her with its intensity, and her hands moved down to Lexa's ass. 

For the first time, Lexa and Clarke pressed their naked bodies against each other, kneeling on the floor like a newly married couple after the ceremony, or at least like two people desperate to protect one another from the forces of the world that drive lovers apart. Clarke's cock twitched in Lexa's hand, the head thumping against her tummy. 

"Take me to the bed," Lexa growled softly in Clarke's ear. 

Clarke took Lexa by the hand and helped her to her feet, kicking off her shorts. She took Lexa to the bed, where she laid on her back. When she remembered what she'd left in her pants pocket, the condoms, Clarke looked over at the dresser. But Lexa placed one finger on her cheek and turned her back to look at her, crouching over Clarke’s naked body. "Shhhhh," she said. "Don't worry, you can pull out." 

The goddess was gone; the innocent was gone. All that remained, hovering over her with all the intensity of a storm cloud, was a spirit of heat and flesh and meat. This must be the last thing the preying mantis sees, Clarke suspected, before the spouse devours it.

"Baby," Lexa said, and she meant Clarke, not something to be taken for granted. She pressed her legs against Clarke’s sides and rested her smooth bottom on her tummy. Clarke wanted to touch her boobies again, and so she did, cupping them in her sweaty hands, pinching the nipples between thumb and finger. Lexa's mouth opened wide as she reached behind and found Clarke's cock. The feel of her hand made her throb. 

She held the erect member at an angle, and then she moved her body backward slowly. The head pressed against her anus, and then Lexa moved it down to the opening in between her legs. Where before Clarke had felt warm flesh, she now felt something burning like boiling water, steamy and heavy. The head of her cock slipped very, very easily in-between the slippery lips of Lexa's pussy, pushing the flesh apart with a sticky separating sensation. 

"Oh my god," Lexa said. She looked deep in Clarke's eyes. Clarke had never felt so safe in her whole life. 

As Lexa sat back, Clarke's cock naturally progressed deeper inside her. Lexa closed her eyes and then, curiously, she laced her fingers together like a praying child, as she allowed her weight to pull her down onto the cock. Clarke felt her heart pounding with frightening force. Nothing in the world existed except the hot, wet flesh pressing so hard around her, trying to grip her but unable to stop her frictioned advance deeper into the tunnel. A trickle of something warm ran down Clarke's balls and over her anus. 

After Clarke was completely buried inside Lexa, she tossed her head back, eyes still closed, and she grabbed her own breasts. At first she simply shuddered and shook on top of Clarke, her tight body twisting in short jerky movements, her tits bouncing under the hands that held them. Then, Lexa began to ride Clarke, up and down, a gentle slamming onto her balls, stroking her rod like a piston in some animal-like machine. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," Lexa sighed in a tender voice. She licked her lips, then opened her mouth wide and continued the gasping. Clarke held her by her hips, helping her lift her body then slam it down. The tight pressure of her vagina was replaced with a creamy, sloppy caress, still gripping her hard but not in the constricting way of earlier. Clarke could not take her eyes off the girl who fucked her, lost in her own passions, oblivious to anything other than the same sensation that dominated Clarke's world. 

Clarke began to come, but she refused. Instead of moving with Lexa, she tensed all her muscles and went rigid below her. Lexa continued to hump her cock, and her moanings were turning louder. Then, Lexa jerked like she'd been hit by an arrow, then another jerk, and then she started to ebb and flow in a wave above Clarke; her orgasm has arrived, and it washed over her with fiery determination. 

"Oh god!" Lexa squealed in a high-pitched voice. Then she went silent as she rode out the barrage of passion flooding her body. Her cunt muscles gripped Clarke with vicious strength, and she knew she was about to come. She pulled out of Lexa, not waiting for her orgasm to end, and Clarke sent her sperm flying onto her own tummy. Lexa lay on Clarke’s thighs, disconnected. After she recovered, she looked down into Clarke's eyes with devilish knowledge. She ran her fingers through the sperm, lifting one finger to her lips to clean it off. Clarke's satisfied cock twitched at the sight. 

"That was nice," Lexa whispered. 

"Nice" was not the word that came to Clarke's mind, but it would do until she could develop coherent thoughts again. 

A cell phone rang. Lexa looked back at her pile of clothing. The ringing came from her handbag, but she made no move to lift herself from the bed; she had not fully recovered. The ringing stopped. 

Clarke didn't know what to say, so she remained silent. After five minutes or so, Lexa swung her leg over Clarke and got off the bed. She walked across the room, regal as a queen or a victorious athlete, leaned over and retrieved her phone. She hit some keys. 

"Hello, you called?… Nooo… Okay okay, I'm sorry… Yes, I'll be there soon… I don't know, I'll see… Bitch, chill out! I told you I'm on my way… You're kidding! She didn't!… She's such a whore… Okay, save me a seat at your table… No, don't tell him anything, I'll see him when I see him… Okay, bye." 

She dropped the phone back into her purse. "Get dressed," she said. The sun had begun to descend below the horizon, and Lexa turned on a lamp to find her clothes. She dressed herself, still standing naked in front of the hotel window. Clarke stood on unsteady legs, used a washcloth to clean herself off. She put on her clothes as quickly as she could. Now she was looking forward to the prom in earnest, and even more, to what would follow the prom. She had the best prom date in a thousand-mile radius. 

Lexa held her hand as they went down the elevators to the car. This time, she sat in the driver's seat. They went back to their suburb, listening to some music in Lexa's car. Now it was Clarke's turn to stare out the window and contemplate life. Leaving downtown meant going to the dance without dinner, but she wasn't really hungry anyway, and maybe she could get out of buying the expensive, obligatory prom gourmet supper. Everything seemed to be working out. 

The car made a wrong turn. They were not headed for the school. 

"Lexa," Clarke said apprehensively, "are we going to the school?" 

"Well," Lexa began, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about." 

Then she stopped speaking. Clarke waited for more. "Well?" she prodded. She probably wanted more sex, this time in the Beemer. 

"The thing is, I'm going to the prom with Bellamy. I always meant to, I just wanted to teach him a lesson. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I guess I just didn't think this thing all the way through." 

Wait a minute, Clarke thought. This… wasn't happening. What had she said? 

"Look, you're really nice, and I appreciate you asking me out tonight. I guess I felt bad for not being able to go the prom with you, and I wanted to make it up to you. It was nice, don't you think?"

But it wasn't nice. It was perfect, and passionate, and pathetic, and deeply flawed in every way that a mishandled human connection can be flawed, and it was, above all, over. The one thing it hadn't been was nice. How could she tell her the disappointment she felt? But she probably already knew, she wasn't stupid. She just didn't care. Suddenly Clarke saw herself as very cheap, and stupid. 

"Why the suit?" she asked, betraying no emotion, because she felt none. 

"I… shit, I thought I might take you after all, at some point. Please don't be mad. You can still go to the prom, you know." 

"With who?" Clarke asked.

Lexa avoided the question. "Can you tell me where you live?" she asked, trying to sound chipper. 

"4510 Silver," Clarke said. "Behind the mall." 

They rode the last five minutes of the drive in complete silence; even the radio was off now. Lexa pulled up to the curb. "I had a really nice time," she said, but her smiles were gone now, never to return. Only the celebrity remained. "You can tell people we fucked," she continued. "I don't mind, really."

Clarke got out of the car and started to walk up the sidewalk to her door. Then, for no reason, she sat on the curb. Lexa was still there, engine running. She rolled down the window and stuck her head out. Her hair remained perfect, tall and sculpted. 

"Hey Clarkey, will you be okay?" 

"No one calls me Clarkey," she said, staring at nothing. 

"I'll see you at school, okay?" Then without waiting for a response, Lexa pulled away from the curb. Moments later, her taillights vanished around the corner. She was gone. 

Clarke felt ill. She tried to discern what lesson she was meant to have learned from all this, but there was none. She hated people no more nor less than she had before the day started. Her opinions had neither been reinforced nor modified; they simply remained open to further data. But she knew one thing for sure. Her senior prom sure was one of the suckiest moments of her entire life. 

The pink and orange of the horizon faded completely, leaving only the black haze of a suburban night. At eight o'clock, she stood and went inside. No one greeted her, so she went upstairs, changed, then played video games.

**Author's Note:**

> (CUE MUSIC)  
> Tori Amos - Siren


End file.
